Homecoming
by See Jane Conform
Summary: [HrSb: Not HBP compatible] Hermione Granger never did know when to let sleeping dogs lie...
1. Chapter One

I disclaim any ownership of anything contained within this story. I'll let J.K. Rowling and Joss Whedon squabble over what belong to whom and just take myself out of the picture completely. Thank you. 

Homecoming

By SJC

When Hermione watched the owl fly through her bedroom window, it carried both her hope and a roll of parchment. After she quickly scanned the message, both went up in flames- the letter only slightly more literally in response to a muttered charm.

The care with which she meticulously read every piece of information had been forgotten, and after the tell tale start- "Miss Granger, I regret to inform you.." -she had barely glanced at the rest. She hadn't needed to. It was only the last in a long line of letters from respected witches and wizards across the world telling her the same thing: that what she was attempting to do was impossible and that they could not offer any help, any information, or any advice other then to give up. But giving up simply wasn't an option for her, and she pulled out another piece of parchment. 

It wasn't the next response that finally changed everything, or even the one after that. In fact, Hermione had lost count of how many letters she had sent before she had finally received the answer that would lead her to what she was looking for. And even then, it was a long shot at best. Still, something instinctual inside of her made her pay close attention to the brief mention of a coven of witches that might be able to help. The letter hadn't said who they were, or been more exact about where they could be found other then her home country of England, but she wasn't to be discouraged by the lacking information. Research was what she did best, and true to form it was less then a week later that found her on a train, heading to the equivalent of a magical reservation in the south of England. 

What she would do when she arrived, she had only a few hours to figure out. Her plan so far hadn't developed farther then to appeal to their compassion. It was her Gryffindor nature, rearing its brave and foolish head that had her buying the tickets before she had devised any sort of plan. And it was that very same nature she blamed now as she tried to organize her thoughts. As they had for most of the past few months, they fell to the man she was trying to save, the boy she was afraid might already be lost, and the world that hung in the balance. 

While she grieved for the passing of the brave, tormented man she had cared for, but never really known, she refused to mourn a death she didn't believe. Sirius Black may have gone from this world, but she couldn't accept that he had reached the next. While others turned inward to work through their pain, she had turned to the library, to the comfort of the small hope that burned still inside, fed by the knowledge hidden within the uncountable tomes, and by the certainty that it hadn't been his time, that somehow she would be able to bring him back. She had tried to share her hope with Harry, tried to offer some of her comfort, but the walls of pain built around him were too solid to break, and so it was alone she sat, pouring through book after book, until she found it. 

It was hardly more then a paragraph, barely legible and bore no more information or use then to fuel the flame of hope bright enough to melt the ice that had numbed her chest and let her -for the first time since he was lost- breathe. She realized then that the help she needed wouldn't be found in the large library that felt so much like home because as vast as it was, the knowledge it carried was too particular. 

It was one month until she first found the small passage, and the second found her on summer break, back at home and corresponding with some of the most talented and brilliant witches and wizards of the time on the subject. Now almost two and half months since he first disappeared, she finally felt she was drawing close to the answer. 

But while she prayed that she would be able to save Sirius, she worried still that it was too late for Harry. So many tragic events had shaped his life in the short time he had been alive, and she feared the consequences of the latest. He had completely withdrawn into himself, and while they were becoming too familiar to his response to such intense pain, they were at a loss on what to do to help him out of it. He had never fully recovered from Cedric's death, never stopped blaming himself, and now to lose his godfather in such a way... She wasn't sure he'd be able to overcome this. And being watched by most of the world as the only hope to stop the very evil that had robbed him of so much was more then he could handle. 

It was wrong to place such pressure on Harry. All he had ever wanted was a normal life with a family that loved him, and instead he was forced to play hero to the same world that stole his dream away. It was so very unfair to thrust such a responsibility on him when he had already been through so much. She hated what it did to him, and yet, she believed it too. One couldn't know him without placing their faith in him. If anyone could save them from the darkness Voldemort threatened, it had to be him. But Hermione had begun to fear even he wouldn't be enough. If he continued on this path of self-destruction, it wouldn't be evil that defeated the great Harry Potter, but himself. And she wasn't sure if the wizarding world could survive that. 

She shook her head, as if the physical action could clear away the worries weighing heavily on her mind, and tried to remind herself of the reason she was doing this. Bringing back Sirius was the only thing she could do to help and she prayed it would be enough. Harry needed him, and the world needed Harry. If only there was some way she could be sure she was doing the right thing. But there wasn't. And all she could do was trust her instincts. 

The scenery outside her window was a blur of summer, streaks of green grass, and blue sky meeting at the horizon, but it hardly affected the troubled girl. Her thoughts were turned now to her destination. She had never met a wandless witch, only briefly studying them in History of Magic, and now she was heading to an entire coven of them. Opinions on them were mixed in the wizarding world. Some barely regarded them as anything more then muggles, others held respect for their ways, if not understanding. They treated magic more as a religion then a science. She hadn't learned in anything she read if they even could perform simple charms, only that they didn't. As far as was known, many thousands of years ago at the beginning of time when witches and wizards were first created, there was no division. But somehow, one day they split. Even the oldest documents found couldn't give much more insight or detail. Maybe it was a disagreement in beliefs that drove the wedge between the two, as would happen later in so many Christian religions. Whatever the cause, while the wizarding world grew and advanced and founded learning institutions, it drifted farther and farther away from the muggle culture whereas the others immersed themselves in it, working as hard to erase the difference between the magical and non, as the wizarding world strove to lengthen it. They didn't use wands, or attend magical schools, but instead passed the knowledge down through families. The once superficial differences grew deeper until they completely separated the two groups at the core. Those that left didn't show up on any magical lists, no invitations were sent to the children from magical schools, and by and large the magical community all together ignored them. That is, until Hermione Granger decided to ask them for help.

When the train finally reached its destination, and she walked the dirt path away from the small town to where the coven was located, she couldn't help but feel she was no closer to having determined what to say then she was when she first started her mission. But desperation drove her legs forward, even as her mind raced at the possibilities of what was to follow. It was some time before the path wound around a hill and revealed to her the first glimpse of the compound. It seemed more like a left over commune from the sixties then anything else; there were a smattering of small buildings in one direction, a large garden in another, and a quaint but functional well that the path took her past. It was there that she met her first wandless witch. 

Hermione adjusted her book bag, which was for once not actually filled with books, and smiled nervously at the older woman. She looked nothing like any witch she had ever met before and had her clear, blue eyes not reminded her so much of her highly respected headmaster, she might have wondered if she was a witch at all. Her face was tanned from a life spent in the sun, but her smile came easy and her teeth were white- something that Hermione never failed to notice or respect as a consequence to being brought up by dentists. The older witch wiped her hands on her faded blue jeans and pushed up the sleeves of her flannel shirt that had been sliding past her elbow. She might have been in her mid fifties, but then again, being a witch, she could have been far older then she appeared.

"Are you lost, girl?" She asked with a kind voice, but as her eyes read into the younger witches she shook her head, "No, you're not, are you? But you're looking for something. It's been many years since I've last seen one of your kind." 

"My name's Hermione Granger," she tried to keep her voice from betraying her. She had never been comfortable meeting new people, and the details of this particular situation didn't lend themselves to aiding her nerves. "I'm here to ask for help."

"You may ask, but I'm not sure how much assistance we will be able to offer." Another long assessing look followed and Hermione fought to not fidget under the scrutiny. "Come. We will talk more once we have eaten."

Hermione's nervous stomach rebelled at the idea of food. "I'm not that hungry, really. I'd actually like to speak to the coven as soon as possible." 

"Very well." All traces of warmth and lightness were gone from the older woman that led Hermione into a small room in the largest building, and left her there with the instruction to wait for her return. Hermione wasn't sure what she expected, her mind briefly wandered to the high inquisitors room back at the ministry of magic, but when she finally was led into the large well lit gathering space, she knew it wasn't that. The room was bright and warm with thirteen chairs arranged in a circle. Eleven of them were filled, and she was brought to one of the two empty chairs before the woman guiding her filled the last one. 

The witches ranged in age and shape, most offering a smile of encouragement when she met their eye, and all attired as muggle-like as the first she met. Only one seemed out of place. She was young, barely a few years older then Hermione herself, with unnaturally dark hair and pale skin. She didn't smile when Hermione met her eyes, but frowned slightly, regarding Hermione with interest and confusion, as if trying to work out a difficult problem. She returned the look for a moment, before her attention was drawn to a different witch.

"You have come a long way to find us, and we are prepared to hear you. Speak, child, and ask what you may." 

Hermione, who had been treated by her parents as an adult since she was first old enough to sit at the dining room table and listen to their discussions with an uncommon attention span and seriousness not found in others her age, and who since had always been annoyed at finding herself being treated any other way, held her tongue from releasing her particular views on the addressment to one of the witches she had come to for assistance. But a small smile on the elder's face almost seemed to suggest she had heard the words Hermione had held back. 

"I have come to ask you for your help." She tried to resist the urge to shift in her chair. As inconsequential as it seemed, she had imagined pleading her case while on her feet, and the informal chairs had caught her off guard. When no one interrupted her, she continued. "A good man was lost to us two months ago, and with him, I fear the upcoming battle against the darkness was lost as well."

"He must be an impressive man to cause such a disturbance, but what would you have us do?" A different witch spoke up.

"I need your help to bring him back." Hermione surveyed the reactions of the assembly, and was quick to notice the glances directed at the young woman who had interested her earlier. One spoke up; looking away from the witch that unexplainably held their attention as much as Hermione did.

"You have come to the wrong place then. We," she glanced at the witch once more, "don't believe in altering fate. It is too dangerous, and too unpredictable. I'm sorry for your loss, but we cannot help you undo what the Goddess has done."

"But this wasn't fate. This wasn't supposed to happen." Hermione leaped to her feet, only barely noticing the witch that had captured everyone's attention earlier rise as well and leave the room. "I don't believed he died. It wasn't his time. I think he was somehow..." Here she paused, not sure how to phrase the suspicions in her mind. "I'm not sure, transported, I guess, to somewhere else. It wasn't anything natural. He fell into this- this, I'm not sure what it was, a portal or something, maybe, and just disappeared. How can he be dead if there is no body?" 

The witches assembled exchanged unreadable looks, and Hermione searched their faces, trying to find one to appeal to.

"I'm sorry, my child. But we cannot help you. You are welcome to pass the night here, but I'm afraid that is all the assistance we are free to offer you."

"But you don't understand. We need him! The world needs him!" She was crying now, for the first time since that day tears streamed freely down her face. But while the coven offered her sympathy with their eyes, that was all they offered as they rose and exited the room. She stood there for a moment, alone and crying, before remembering the young witch and ran out after her. She burst through the doors and scanned the area before spotting her sitting beneath a small tree not too far away. Her face was closed off, and she seemed lost in her thoughts but looked up when Hermione approached.

_"Is it wise letting them meet?" One of the two witches that watched from a distance questioned quietly._

"It is necessary." The old witch's voice was sorrowful as her eyes searched the unseen. "It is not an easy path that must be traveled, and heavier still is the burden to be carried by children." 

"I saw the way they looked at you. You can help me, can't you?" Hermione didn't bother to hide the evidence of her tears as she begged to be heard.

"I can't." 

"You can't, or you won't?" She questioned angrily. But when her query was met only by silence, her voice softened and she left herself fall to sit on the grass as well. "Please, please. If there is anyway, you have to help me."

"There isn't. Even if there was- I'm sorry. I've been where you are before. I know how you feel but you can't bring him back. It's not right. As much as it hurts, this is how it's supposed to be, how it has to be."

"No, it's not! It wasn't his time. There is a war brewing and his life could mean the difference between a victory and a massacre. You have to believe me, the world needs him."

"Even if that's true, it's not up to you or me to decide that. You heard the sisters-"

"They didn't hear me! Or if they did, they didn't understand." Hermione stared at the witch, starting to comprehend, "But you do- don't you? That's why they were watching you. You can do this. You can bring him back." 

"I can't."

"You've never sat for one of those before, have you?" Hermione's mind was racing, pieces finally falling into place. "This is the first time they've asked you to sit for the coven, isn't it? Don't you see? They wanted us to meet. They want you to help me."

"Or maybe they want me to talk you out of it. Maybe they want me to keep you from making the same mistakes I have." 

"No, I'm right about this. I can feel it. You're supposed to help me." When she felt the words were starting to affect the other witch she raced on, "Look, I don't think he's dead, not really. If he were dead, his body would still be here, wouldn't it? But it's not- all of him is gone. I know it sounds crazy, but I think he's alive, just in another world or dimension or something. I just need to know how to get him back." 

"It wouldn't be easy."

"I never thought it would."

"Don't think you can just wave your magic wand and expect to pull him out of a hat or something."

"I know."

"But, there might be a way."

"How? Tell me, please."

"Everything here is connected, tied together by invisible bonds." Hermione watched as a small stem poked through the earth beneath the other girl's outstretched hand and wove between her fingers. A bud formed and grew larger before it opened to reveal a small fragile white flower. "What is born of the earth," she paused as before their eyes the flower wilted and died, retreating back to the soil, "must return to it. If he's truly gone from this earth, you might be able to use that bond to find him, and possibly bring him back. He won't be the same, he'll be changed, and it might not even be possible but..." She sighed. "Look in the library at the Watcher's Council. If the information you need is anywhere, it'll be there. I'm sorry, I can't help you anymore then that."

Hermione still had a million questions flying through her head, but she expressed her gratitude by keeping silent. Despite the late hour and the sisters' offer to stay, she set off back toward the village in hopes of being able to catch the last train back that night. Her head was too full to even attempt any sleep, and she was anxious to start her search of the Watcher's Council library, even if she didn't know where to begin to look for such a place. 

Being less then completely trusting of the Ministry of Magic, the events of the past year having shattered any faith she had left in them, it was with some trepidation that she entered the Directorial Building. In contradiction to the large space, there was only one single desk in the otherwise empty room. Centered between two gold elevators and pulled a good distance away from the wall, it was a tall, cherry receptionist's desk complete with a young, thin wizard sitting behind it.

"Directory assistance, how may I direct you." His tone was as bored as his voice was nasal, somehow making his question a statement. She approached him, quite self-conscious of the loud sound of her shoes clicking on the tile in the silent room. Once she was quite a bit nearer, she couldn't help but notice the strange similarity between his looks and one Percy Weasley. Other then his dark hair, they might have been twins, and as he looked down at her through the glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose, she was suddenly not so sure they weren't.

"I'm looking for the Watcher's Council Library." She said finally, in answer to his question.

"The Ministry of Magic is not affiliated with the Watcher's Council. The Watcher's Council is not a Ministry approved organization and thus the Ministry can't authenticate any information you may find there. The Ministry of Magic disclaims any responsibility for the actions of the Watcher's Council and does not endorse nor recommend the use of said institution. Can I direct you to the Ministry's library instead?"

"No, thank you." She tried to smile at the pompous wizard before her, "It's just that my friend heard that their library was twice the size of the Ministry of Magic's, and I told that she must have heard wrong because no library could be bigger then the one here but I'm sure you know how some girls can be. I just want to be able to show it to her so she'll believe me." 

"Well, we're not actually supposed to know where the Council is..."

"But I'm sure you do, don't you?" She smiled at him until he blushed slightly and knew she had her answer. She had found its location, but at the cost of her lunch. 

Remarkably, finding it had been the most difficult part. The different excuses she had stored in the back of her mind weren't even needed, as she wasn't stopped once inside the large building. She imagined her luck had something to do with the multitude of teenage girls that roamed the halls alongside older, tweed-covered counter-parts. Whatever the reason they were there, she was thankful, as it let her slip without notice into the library. 

The first day she spent four hours exploring the stacks of books, feeling more like a kid in a candy store then the young woman on a mission that she was. 

The second day found her there twice as long, skimming, reading, and making notes until her eyes demanded she stop, blurring the lines into a soft fuzz and making further research impossible. 

By the third day, she was certain that the fellow researchers that shared the library with her knew she wasn't there for the same reason as the other girls she had seen in the halls, but her quiet, studious nature did nothing to disturb their environment and so they let her remain. 

On the fourth day, she finally was able to narrow down the section where her answer waited. 

The fifth day confirmed her beliefs and produced the text that would lead her to the solution.

It was half way through the sixth day when she found her answer. 

And on the seventh day, she rested.

The answer had come in the form of a spell. Not broken down components of a spell, like a charm or potion, but an actual, complete spell. 

A wandless spell. 

Which, quite frankly, had Hermione more then slightly concerned. She had a wand for a reason, and no idea if she could perform magic without it. Still, it didn't seem all that complicated. Light a few candles, burn some select herbs, chant a bit of Latin and poof, Sirius would be back... What could possibly go wrong? Oh, if only she had the time to make an itemized list of all the possibilities...

But she had read and reread the spell, she had collected all the ingredients and even double-checked -for the third time- the set up of the three candles, and she couldn't think of anything else to stall it any longer. She initially felt a cemetery would be more appropriate for her purpose, but had settled for her own back yard. If she did somehow pull this off, she would have enough to worry about without trying to sneak Sirius home from across town. 

She kneeled in the center of the triangle created by the three candles and lit each in order, glancing once at the book lying slightly ahead of her. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, before drawing a circle in the soft dirt around her. In one hand she held the bundle of herbs she had prepared earlier, and with the other set fire to them. She dropped it into the small clay bowl and watched the smoke rise and with a shaky voice she began to chant.

She couldn't be sure how long she knelt in the dirt, but her knees ached and the smoke had cooled to a slow trickle and still she chanted on. For the first time in her life, she felt as if her body, mind and soul were united in one goal and in that instance, the earth rose to answer her call. In one fluid moment, reality bent in on itself and snapped, spitting out a dark figure as a sudden wind extinguished the candles. And then all was still.

Later, Hermione wouldn't be able to remember how she managed to throw the supplies into a bag and levitate his prone figure into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom. She wouldn't know where she found the strength to follow, or to climb into the bed and wrap her arms around him, or even how she managed to make it through the night, listening to him cry out in his sleep, and feeling him shake against her. 

But she did. 

And the morning came. 

She wasn't sure if she awoke, or if she had simply never fallen asleep, but suddenly his figure was bathed in the sunlight streaming through her window and a new form of peace settled over her. She lifted a hand to brush the hair out of his eyes and gasped as they shot open. 

The madness that had lurked behind them as long as she had known him was disturbingly close to the surface. He jerked away from her, scrambling backward across the bed until his back hit the wall. His breath was coming out in short ragged gasps and his eyes were darting around. She was reminded instantly of a caged animal and realized the danger of her situation. 

"Sirius," she kept her voice soft and even, and her movements slow as she cautiously sat up. Feral eyes watched her warily. "It's ok, Sirius. You're safe. I'm not going to hurt you. It's me, Hermione. You know me." Her last sentence seemed more like a plea then a statement. His eyes cleared fractionally, and his mouth moved, as if trying to remember how to speak. And then he did, in a voice hoarse from ill use. 

"Hermione?"

_I'm not sure where exactly this came from. It's not as if i'm not behind far enough with my other fics but it seemed like a story that needed to be told. I can't guarrentee this will be all fluffy and happy, in fact, i'm almost positive it won't be. And i'm not sure if anyone will even want to read this... But still, I've put it out there and hopefully pacified my relentless muse for the time being. I don't know if its worth continuing, or what anyone might think about it. Comments either way would be most highly appreciated. Help me make some sense out of my muddled head. It's late and I'm tired and i'm sure this is riddled with mistakes but... meh, what's done is done. Thank you. _


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

"Hermione?"

She took one step closer to him, and he bridged the rest of the distance. Falling to his knees, his hands wound round her waist and he pressed his cheek against her clothed stomach. She could feel his body tremble and shake with each silent sob he let out. Her arms wrapped around him and held him close to her, his tears dripping on her wrist. But she could offer no words of comfort.

After a time the tears subsided and he began to come back to himself. He pulled away from her slowly, almost reluctantly, and avoided her eyes.

"It's alright. Why don't you go take a shower? The bathroom's right there and I've left some of my dad's clothes in it for you. They should fit alright. I'm going to go down and make some breakfast."

He didn't respond but his eyes held his thanks when they finally met hers. She smiled in return and left him to go downstairs.

She grabbed a frying pan and some eggs, sausage and toast from the refrigerator. Her parents always left it well stocked. She wasn't sure what Sirius wanted, but she needed to do something to keep herself busy. But even with her body occupied, her mind couldn't stay away from the tortured man using her bathroom. He had already been through so much in his life, and here she was putting him through more. His life wasn't going to get any easier in the coming months but they needed him. She wondered if she was being selfish. Surely wherever he was had to have been giving him more of a rest then he'll get here, but no, she had seen the look in his eyes, she was sure she had done the right thing.

Her mind drifted to the other matter concerning him. When she had held him earlier, it was only to offer some comfort to a good man who had been through too much. But somehow, by touching him, he had calmed all the raging demons inside her. It could possibly be a side of effect of the spell, that had her uneasy with being apart from him, or it could just stem from having finally gotten him back after missing him for so long that caused the feeling. Still, she made a mental note to research it.

The shrill ringing of a phone in the quiet house startled her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall, noticed the time and picked up the cordless phone.

"Hey Mom."

"Hi, sweety, how are you this morning?"

"Fine."

"Are you sure? You don't sound fine. Do you need us to come home?"

"No, I am fine. I'm just a little tired. I didn't get much sleep."

"Are you sure you're not coming down with anything? I hear there's a bug going around."

"Who would I have caught it from? You know it's just been me most of this summer."

"Alright, I know. But it's a mother's duty to worry. You'll understand when you have your own daughter."

"Hopefully I won't have one."

"That'll change, sweetheart. So how is everything else?"

"Um, ok, I guess."

"Just ok?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, and shifted her weight, looking over at the stairs where she could hear Sirius coming down.

"Everything's fine."

"Come on, you can tell your mom. Is it a boy?"

She met his dark eyes as he reached the last step.

"Something like that."

He sat down at the breakfast room table and her attention snapped back to the eggs that were currently burning.

"Look, I'll have to call you back later. I need to go now. Bye."

He sniffed the air, his inner canine coming through. "Eggs?"

"And sausage, and toast." She grabbed the pan and two plates and brought them over to the table. She set one in front of him and one across the table.

"You've been spending too much time with Molly." He told her as he eyed all the food.

"I just figured you'd be hungry and I wasn't sure what you wanted-" she started explaining, or maybe babbling, as she scraped portions off onto each of the plates, "You are, aren't you? Hungry, that is. Because if you aren't or if you want something else I can-"

"It's fine." She looked up at him briefly and smiled, before looking away again nervously. She took the pan back into the kitchen and left it in the seat before returning and sitting across from him. She buttered a piece of toast, striving desperately for normalcy, and set it on her plate.

"Why am I here?"

"Well, my parents are out of town right now and I didn't know where else would be a safe place..."

"Not here in this house, here in this world. What did you do?" His eyes were intent and not leaving hers. She finally answered him quietly.

"I brought you back."

"Do you know how dangerous what you did was? You stupid child! You could have been killed!"

"Oh, and you have such a healthy respect for danger." She shot back at him, matching his anger.

"That's different. Hermione," he softened his voice and tried a different approach, "If anything had happened to you..."

"Then a couple people would be sad and the world would still go on. It's not my life that matters."

"How can you say that?"

"Stop it! You don't know what it's been like since you've been gone. It's been hell here. Everything's changed. The order is completely lost, so much hope has been shattered and Harry- he changed worst of all. In the state he's in, he couldn't defend himself from a mosquito- and worse, I'm not sure he'd want to. For there to be any hope for the future, I had to bring you back. You're needed here."

"For what? To be locked up again as the order's mascot? We both saw how well that turned out last time."

Hermione didn't have an answer for that. The silence stretched and she looked at the man before her. Really looked. He was clearly a man, his body showing what the years and stress had taken from him, but he had been denied so many experiences during all the years he was locked up. In one way, he had been hardened much too young, and in another way, it was as if he was still a boy who was denied the chance to grow up. Hermione grabbed both the barely touched dishes and dropped them in the sink. They clattered loudly against the still air. Her back was still to him when she spoke, but she could feel his eyes on the back of her head.

"After I can be certain that you're well, I'll send a letter to Professor Lupin. And then I'll be done with my part in this. What you do after is your own business."

"So eager to be rid of me after you went through so much trouble to bring me back?"

"I didn't bring you back for me."

She washed her hands, of the food and the entire situation, and left the room.

_Questions? Comments? Review._


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

She didn't dare so much as a glance over her shoulder for the room she left behind, or the wizard whose dark eyes had driven her flight, but climbed purposefully the soft, carpeted steps of the staircase that would carry her away from the source of her unease.

He always had had that affect on her, she reflected. Could she recall a time when his gaze hadn't left her feeling so exposed, convinced he saw- saw, and dismissed- all her cleverness and supposed maturity for what it really was- a poor attempt at disguising the fact that the bossy little bookworm Harry and Ron so relied on to always have the answer, was really just winging it like the rest of them?

She was being foolish, of course. It wasn't that she didn't credit him as shrewd enough to see past her front, but that he had simply never bothered to look in the first place. The brief, uncomfortable conversation replayed itself in her mind and she wondered that after years of silly adolescent longings for him to notice her as something other than his godson's clever friend, the fulfillment of those very wishes would be so… undesirable.

Now she wanted nothing more than to fade back into obscurity, safe from haunting grey eyes and questions she couldn't answer.

She entered her room and sighed once, decided that to be enough indulgence in such melodrama, and pushed all ponderings on her relationship with her best friend's god-father to the furthest recesses of her mind. In a war torn world, there simply wasn't time for teenage angst.

Her bag, containing both the ingredients from the previous night's activities as well as the collection of notes amassed during the weeks of research leading up to it, lay propped up against her desk, where it had been forgotten while she attended to the more pressing matters at hand. Now she reached for it, intending to tidy up and transfer her notes to a safer place, but was stopped by the sudden instance of vertigo. Her hands found the surface of the desk and she braced herself against it.

"What's wrong?"

Quicker then she could have imagined, he was by her side, guiding her into her desk chair. None too gently, he grasped her chin in one large hand and maneuvered her face into the light streaming in from the open window, she assumed to check her pupils. The dizziness had all but receded and she swatted his hand away.

"Nothing, I'm fine. I'm just a little tired." She avoided his eyes, embarrassed. "Did you come up here for a reason?"

"I don't think you're fine." He ignored her question, and her protestations. "We need to get you checked out. What were you thinking messing with magic like that? Do you know-"

"We've had this conversation already. I really don't think there's anything more that needs to be said. As for getting checked out, I agree with you. Which is why after Professor Lupin is brought up to date, he'll be able to arrange for _both_ of us to have a thorough examination." Her tone allowed no room for disagreement, but internally she was more than a little nervous. She hadn't really thought this far ahead. For so long her only thought had been how to bring him back, now he was here and she wasn't entirely sure what to do with him. Professor Lupin had become her answer, in part because of his history with Sirius, and in part because he simply always had been her answer. Before, he had often asked her to drop the 'professor' from his title, it had been years since he performed that particular occupation, but she never could bring herself to do it. In her memory, he would be forever immortalized as her favorite teacher, and one of the few people she turned to for help.

"He doesn't know, then. He doesn't know what you did."

"No, he doesn't. But if you had seen him- if you had seen all of them after it happened, after you" the word died in her throat, "I couldn't do that to them. I couldn't give them hope incase it didn't work."

"You didn't want to disappoint them, or you didn't want them to try and stop you?" His eyes met hers, challenging. She looked away and his features softened. "Hermione, I know you were doing what you thought was right- but it wasn't. If I came back, it'd only make things worse." Her eyes flew back to his, a question forming on her lips. "That's why you can't tell them what you've done."

"No." She shook her head, "No. No, that's not right. Sirius, whatever else you think, they _need_ you." She had leapt to her feet sometime after his revelation, and her head was suddenly swimming again. She fought it off, refusing to consider anything other than the man in front of her. "After everything, how could you turn your back on them? How could you even think of just walking away?"

Whatever Sirius's response might have been may never be known, as the young witch paled even further before collapsing in his arms.

Had Hermione been conscious, and possessed of a less compassionate sort of nature, she might have felt slightly vindicated at the extreme worry her sudden fainting spell caused the older wizard.

However, Hermione wasn't, in fact conscious, and being so, was unaware of his concern. She was also unaware of the gentle manner in which he laid her on the bed, or of the hand that carefully –almost lovingly- swept aside the hair that had fallen across her face. Had she witnessed the tenderness displayed, she might have been able to rest easier. As it was, she stirred herself sometime after, her eyes immediately searching the darkened room for a sign of the man who haunted her dreams. Finding none, and fearing her weakness had allowed him the chance to flee unopposed, she quickly –too quickly, her head protested, and was ignored- sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She had barely stood up when a familiar figure darkened her doorway.

"Sirius." She breathed his name on a sigh of relief. "You didn't leave."

"You shouldn't be up." He ignored her statement and crossed to where she stood. She could only stare mutely at him as he helped her back into bed, his previous gentleness forgotten. She grasped one of his wrists as he started to withdraw, and found her voice.

"Stay." Her eyes met his, silently pleading.

"You need to rest now." He tried to pull away, but her grip only tightened.

"Promise me you'll stay."

"Hermione, I…"

She heard the unspoken words and dropped her hand. Tears threatened her vision and she bit her lip, trying to control her emotions, and failing that, fighting to hold it in until he left. She suddenly felt the part of a little girl; certain that was how she appeared to him. But she couldn't let him walk away.

"Please, Sirius, I can't lose you again."

He sighed, frustrated, but the battle was won.

"Go to sleep, Hermione. I'll be here when you wake up."


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Having finally secured the promise she needed from the man who unknowingly dominated her thoughts, Hermione wasted no time in letting her body claim the rest it had long been denied. For once, sleep came with no struggle and though she might not have been conscious to enjoy it, her entire being joyfully reaped the benefits. Months of exhaustion had taken its toll, and what little strength was left had been completely eradicated by the spell. She had been left running on endorphins and their magical counterparts to keep up the façade of normalcy, but even when that gave way, leaving her to faint in Sirius's arms, she was able to rouse herself once more- because she had to know that it hadn't all been in vain. She had to know that he would stay. And knowing he would was all she needed to surrender to the warmth of her bed, and the promise of relief.

She drifted in and out of dreams, the particulars fuzzy and distorted but the fantasy a welcome respite from the real world. The day had passed around her, and even the night came and left without disturbing her slumber. In the end, it was the scent of pancakes that proved a strong enough incentive to stir her from her warm cocoon.

Getting up, she patted at her hair in an effort to tame the mess it had become overnight. She knew she must be an awful sight, and for a brief moment vanity warred with curiosity and her empty stomach before the smart, practical witch who didn't care what she looked like –and really, even if she did, it's not like Sirius would notice either way- regained control and had her following her nose down the steps of her stairs.

There was something incredibly surreal about the sight that greeted her as she reached the bottom step, something incongruous about seeing Sirius making himself at ease in her muggle home. He was facing her, his back leaning against the Italian marble counter her mother had begged for last summer. His hair was clean but tousled in no discernible style, her dad's faded "Trust me, I'm a dentist" shirt hung loose on his frame, and he held _her_ coffee mug in one hand. He looked so… ordinary.

Ordinary was not a word she had ever associated with him before.

The conversation fromthe previous day was fresh in her mind, and she was struck with how unprepared and generally unsuited she was for all this. It was uncomfortable enough spending time with Harry's godfather when they hadn't ever really been alone before, but now she realized it went beyond even that. Because whatever else Sirius Black was in the magical community, here in her family's home, she was faced with the realization that he was still very much a man. And she was just an awkward teenage girl who suddenly, desperately wished for her mother. She didn't know what to say to him, or how she should act. She wanted to sound mature, she wanted to seem confident, and in control. But in the end, all she managed was a shy "Hi."

He returned her greeting, the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly, giving her the impression he was mocking her. She racked her brain, trying to think of something- anything- to say to keep her from making an even bigger fool of herself. She had so many questions, and there was still so much to be said, yet no words came to her. In the end, it was he who saved her.

"I made pancakes. I figured you'd be hungry."

She grasped on to the opening he gave her like a drowning man who had just been thrown a life preserver.

"Yes, thank you." She moved to grab a plate and busied herself with transferring a few of the hotcakes onto it. "Where did you learn to make pancakes? I thought all you wizards were helpless without your wand."

"Yes, well, you might be surprised at what you can pick up when you're on the run." His voice was light but Hermione instantly berated herself for causing him to remember some of his darker days. He spoke up again, as if he could read her thoughts, and lightened the mood again. "Go ahead, try them. There's quite a good chance they're actually edible."

She sniffed the pancakes cautiously, and the delicious aroma soothed some of her concern. She took a hesitant first bite and smiled.

"These are really good!"

"Don't sound so surprised." The small smile playing about his lips caused her to flush and remember just how devastating he could be when his features relaxed and his eyes lit up with emotion. She turned away from him, trying to hide her schoolgirl blush, and walked towards the table to set down her plate. Papers were scattered in an unorganized mess, clustered at one end of the table. She was already grabbing, sorting and stacking them before she even realized what she held.

"These are my notes." She turned back to Sirius, previous embarrassment forgotten, the hand holding her notes thrust towards him in silent accusation. He watched her, his face infuriatingly neutral.

"Yes."

Hermione took one deep breath, then another. Finally she managed a concise, "Explain. Please," in a deceptively calm tone. Had Harry or Ron been there, they would have recognized the tone for what it was, and most likely run for cover. As it was, Sirius averted his eyes and took on the appearance of a young boy about to be scolded for all of a brief moment before seemingly remembering that he was a grown wizard and did not have to answer to the much younger witch before him. Still, it was with a gentle, soothing tone that he spoke.

"I was worried about you. You were unconscious for the better part of yesterday and all of last night. I needed to know what you had done before I could do anything to help you."

"And that gives you the right to go through my things, read my notes?" She wasn't bothering to moderate her own tone any longer and ended on a near screech. She couldn't fathom how he could justify the invasion of her privacy, especially after she had risked so much to save him. She wasn't looking for eternal gratitude; she just wanted a bit of respect. It wasn't so much to ask for and yet instead he treated her like a child.

"I was worried," he repeated in that same irritating calm voice, "and with good reason. I've looked over your notes, Hermione. It's just not possible. It shouldn't have worked."

"But it did. I mean, you're here and in one piece. I'd say it worked just fine." The previous cause for her anger was pushed to a back burner and was replaced by outrage that he would doubt her abilities. She had known it was a long shot when she had first found the spell, but it had worked. He was living, breathing proof of that. She had succeeded even after everyone said she wouldn't, but he wouldn't give her any credit for that either.

"You think so? There's a reason you won't see anything like this on the curriculum at Hogwarts. The spells you use today are a result of hundreds of years of research and experiments. They've taken the guesswork out of it, you say your word, flick your wand and poof, instant result. And it'll be the same result the next time and the next. They've made it reliable, and they've made it safe. This- what you've done- it's not like that. It's unpredictable, it's uncharted. Who knows what damage it might have caused? Or the side effects that came along with it. What's more- Hermione, you shouldn't even have been able to do this. And that's what worries me the most."

Hermione deflated after his lecture, knowing he was right and hating him for it. She hadn't thought of the consequences, not really. He was watching her, she knew he was waiting for her to say something, but she wasn't quite prepared to admit she might have been wrong. "You know, I think that's the most you've ever said to me at one time."

The knowing look in his eyes told her he knew the reason behind the shift in conversation, but he was willing to let it slide. So instead of pressing the point, he transferred another pancake to the stack on her plate. "Eat. You're going to need the energy."

Something warned Hermione that it was going to be a long day.

_AN: It's been brought to my attention that I've made a number of embarrassingly careless mistakes in the past few chapters (to which there is no excuse but that I haven't taken the proper care that I should). If anyone would care to help me out by beta-ing upcoming chapters before I post them, please e-mail me at seejaneconform(at)msn(dot)com and I would very much appreciate it. I know there are services out there to connect you with other people for this sort of thing but I'd much rather it be someone that has some interest in the story, thus the plea here. Thank you!_


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